[Writer of The Mark]

Idona lifted her skirt while climbing the few stairs before taking a firm grip of the doorhandle belonging to the heavy door. She dropped her pencil down on the ground in the attempt. The door slapped shut again, in her face. 'Typical,' she muttered picking the pencil up. She went for the door again, this time, succeeding.

The cosy atmosphere was impossible not to enjoy. The Inn was filled with people and Idona felt the different smells of food, the fire and people stream into her nostrils. She had entered a whole new world. Outside, the sun had been shining and it was way too warm for what Idona herself thought she could handle. In here, on the other hand, it was cooler than outside. However, there was this friendly warmth, which made Idona feel comfortable, even though she didn't know anyone . The Innkeeper, Bêthberry she had greeted a couple of times when she had spent her afternoons at The Horse drawing but Idona did not recognize anyone else.

Idona stepped forwards taking her brown hood off.

'A bowl of soup,' she said drawing the attention of the serving maid. 'And some bread to go with that, please,' she added before settling herself by the fire, her favorite place. Idona caught the eye of the cook Froma, who was very skilled in the kitchen the Rohan woman thought. Every time Idona had been here, the food had always been better than expected.

She took her drawing out; it was almost finished. Until now she had mainly focused on the architecture. However, today she would do her final preparations before giving it to her grandmother for a birthday present. Therefore it was natural that her eyes were laid upon people, both young and old.

Idona's grandmother, Eir had told her granddaughter so many stories about her youth and how she would sit at this Inn talking to complete strangers, getting to know the history, politics and other events about Rohan and the distant lands beyond. 'When I was young,' Eir used to say, 'I was always here, having a splendid time!' Eir would talk on and on about the place.

Idona heard her grandmother's words ringing in her ears, while trying to concentrate at the drawing. After Eir grew ill, she had not been able to visit the Horse, something that bothered both grand-mother and grand-daughter.

On the drawing, the figure of a man was soon formed, by the many lines Idona quickly made. She placed him at one of the benches drinking his ale, while talking merrily to another man just beside him. Thereafter, the nose and the plain looks in his face appeared. Idona was sketching eagerly.

'Your soup, I believe.' The serving maid Theora sat the bowl of hot soup in front of Idona.

She thanked the maid and gave her some silver coins. Theora gave a smile before she trudged on, probably going to serve another customer. Idona realized how hungry she was and laid her pencil and paper away. 'Hot,' she muttered, making a grimace as she tasted the soup. She ate her bread in a hurry, taking up her unfinished drawing again.

~-~ ********************* ~-~

'And what is the lady drawing?'

It was a friendly voice coming from someone Idona thought looked vaguely familiar. She stared into the man's face, gazing, trying to figure where she had seen him before. An analysis of the man ran through her head causing an explosion in there. Ah well, she couldn't figure out who it was. Maybe it was just her imagination.

'Sorry,' she stammered. 'I am trying to make a drawing of the Inn,' she said, looking around. 'A present,' she added. Idona explained about her grandmother loving this Inn so much and how pleased she would be to 'experience' the Horse, after so many years.

'Oh, I see. May I?' Without reply from the lady he took the pencil, gave it a wave and ran it smoothly over the paper. 'You see? The man gets a bit more 'alive'.' He said showing it to her. Idona couldn't do anything but smile; it was clear that this man was good.

'Very nice,' she assured him. The man gave a nod.

'Oh, how rude of me. I haven't even introduced myself. I am Idona,' she said while sighing. How could she forget such an important thing?

He stretched out his hand to take hers. 'And I am your cousin, Hallam'

[ September 30, 2003: Message edited by: Writer of The Mark ]